


The Unexpected

by elizaye



Series: FWB!verse [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Castiel, M/M, Top Dean, Unwelcome guest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all comes to a head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unexpected

Dean’s lying on the couch when the doorbell rings.  Odd—anyone who typically comes looking for him either has a key or calls ahead of time, so who could it be?  And then he remembers that Sam’s home, and this person could be looking for him instead.  So Dean decides to ignore it and shuts his eyes.

The doorbell rings again.

“Sammy!  Door!”

“You’re the one who lives here!  _You_ get it!” Sam shouts.  His voice is coming from upstairs, but Dean can’t be bothered to get up at the moment, so Sam’s just gonna have to suck it up.

“Door!” Dean repeats.

A moment later, there’s the sound of a giant pounding his way down the stairs.  “You’re such a jerk, Dean!” Sam shouts as the doorbell rings again.

God, Dean’s missed having him at home.

Then there are footsteps in the hallway leading to the sitting room that Dean’s lazing in, and he grins at the thought of the stupidly annoyed face that Sam’s sure to be sporting.

“It’s for you,” Sam says, and Dean frowns, notices that there are _two_ sets of footfalls.  He sits up, opens his eyes, and immediately wishes that he hadn’t, because this is the last person he wants to see.

“Dean.”

“Balthazar.”  It’s impossible to keep the frostiness out of his voice, and judging from the smirk that slowly winds its way up Balthazar’s face, the smug bastard clearly hears it.  Apparently Sam can tell as well, because he’s frowning now, and Dean wishes he’d answered the door so he could’ve prevented this guy from invading his territory.

“Lovely day today, don’t you think?” Balthazar says, looking way too pleased with himself.

Dean is not amused.  “Why are you here?  And how do you even know where I live?”

“Your family is one of the wealthiest in this city.  It’s not that hard to look you up.”

“Okay, then.  What are you doing here?”

“Um, Dean,” Sam says before Balthazar can speak, “shouldn’t you at least let him sit down or something?”

Dean clenches his jaw.  “Right.  Sit,” he says to Balthazar, gesturing toward the stuffed armchair placed ninety degrees to the couch.  “Please,” he adds when Balthazar doesn’t move, the _bastard_.  Sam’s eyebrows are raised, but Dean ignores the questioning look his brother sends his way.  “Sammy, some privacy?”

Sam blinks.  “Um, yeah.  I was getting ready to go to Jess’s anyway.  Just… let me know if you uh, if you need anything.”  He glances at Balthazar, who’s now situated in the armchair, when he finishes speaking.

“Great,” Dean says, hardly able to keep the growl out of his voice.  Balthazar is _in his house_.  Why the fuck is he even here?  He’s already got Cas.  What more can he possibly want from Dean?

Dean hardly even hears the exchange between Balthazar and Sam—one or the other says the _it was nice meeting you_ sort of polite crap, and the other shares the sentiment.  Fuck, Dean wishes he’d never met the guy.  Life was a hell of a lot better before Balthazar edged his way in.  Ignorance is bliss, they—whoever _they_ are—all say.  They’re certainly not wrong.

As soon as Sam’s gone, Dean repeats his earlier query.  “What are you doing here?”

Balthazar leans back, crosses his legs, and looks so sophisticated that Dean wants to punch him in the face.  _This_ is what Cas has chosen, a voice in his head is saying, _this_ is what he’s picked over you.  “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”

“Just talk.”

“Not much of a host, are you?”

“ _Talk_ ,” Dean repeats tersely.

“All right, all right.  No need to be so antagonistic.  I’m planning to buy a gift for Cas, and I wanted to hear what you’d recommend.”

Dean stares at him—this is definitely not what he’d expected.  “Why are you asking me?”

Balthazar looks at him like he’s an idiot.  “I thought that much would be obvious.  You _are_ his best friend, are you not?”

“Um,” Dean says, and there’s a giant lump in his throat.  “I’m not sure.”

“Oh right, you’re fighting,” Balthazar says flippantly.  “Cas might’ve mentioned that.”

“Yeah, so—”

“Regardless,” Balthazar continues, talking over Dean, “you still know him very well.  What does he like?”

“He’s your boyfriend, why don’t you ask him?”

“‘Cause then it wouldn’t be surprise anymore, would it?  Now, let’s see if I can make this easier for you.  Does he have a favorite type of chocolate?”

“If I answer, will you go away?”

“Not likely.  I have a few more questions.”

“I’ll answer three, and then you’re gonna get outta here.  Got it?”

“You seem to object rather strongly to my presence here, Dean,” Balthazar observes mildly—and yeah, that’s the understatement of the century, isn’t it?—but there’s a glint in his eyes that Dean _really_ doesn’t like.  “It’s almost as though you think I’ve stolen something that was yours.”

“Okay, this isn’t about some fucking present.  What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Dean demands.

“My, oh my, what a temper.  You have a pretty face, but apart from that, I really don’t know what Cas sees in you.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?  You gonna tell me how you and Cas are a fucking perfect couple and how I’m the only thing standing between you and your happily-ever-after?”

“No, Dean,” Balthazar says, and suddenly the glint in his eyes is gone, extinguished, and Dean doesn’t like that either, because Balthazar looks almost _pitiful_ like this, and the last thing Dean wants to feel toward the guy is pity.  “No—as much as I’d love for that to be true, the real obstacle for Cas and me is… well, Cas.”

“Just get to the point, okay?”

Balthazar’s eyes harden.  “I don’t—this isn’t exactly _easy_ for me, Dean.  I don’t have to be here.”

“Then go.  You know where the door is.”

The snotty Englishman is full-on glaring now, but Dean just glares right back and waits.  Balthazar caves quickly, looking away as he says, “Look, I’m here because we need to settle things.”

“About Cas?  I’m pretty sure it’s all settled already.”

“It’s not,” Balthazar says.  “You see… Cas isn’t happy, and it’s important to me that he be happy, so I need to know where you stand.”

“It’s not like I can change his mind,” Dean says.  “He chose you.  End of story.  I don’t understand why you’re even here—don’t you have what you want already?”

Balthazar looks pissed.  “Will you give up that false bravado of yours and _just be honest?_ ”

Dean huffs, annoyed.  “What do you want me to do?  It’s over.  Cas isn’t my… my…” he shakes his head and lets his voice trail off.  He can’t label what Cas was to him, because he was so much more than just a best friend, way more than just a fuck buddy, but… but they were never _together_ , together.

“Cas… he’s yours,” Balthazar says, bypassing the label entirely, and Dean hates the way his heart clenches because it’s _not true_.  “He’s always been yours.  If I’m correct, he’s been in love with you since the two of you met.  If you want him, all you have to do is ask.”

Dean does his best to ignore the stab in his chest at this and even manages to smile, though he’s sure the sight isn’t pretty.  “See, that’s where you’re wrong.  Because I _have_ asked, and…” Dean shakes his head, forces the rest of the words out, “…he didn’t want me.”

The look on Balthazar’s face clearly spells out disbelief.  “That’s not possible.”

“Well, that’s what happened,” Dean says, trying for nonchalant.

Balthazar’s features twist, and he looks _angry_ again.  What the hell?  “I was originally going to tell you that Cas and I were leaving for England soon,” he says in a controlled voice.

Dean only just manages to keep his expression from changing, from showing any sort of vulnerability—the possibility of Cas really leaving is… too much.  It’s one thing to think they might have a chance to be friends again, like Dean is with Anna, but it’s another entirely to realize that he might be going across the freaking world, where reconciliation would be pretty goddamn difficult.

“It would have been a lie, of course,” Balthazar continues, and Dean feels a shiver of relief at the admission.  “I was right not to do so—you’re too much of a coward to do anything about it.”

“I don’t care what you think about me.  You don’t even know me.”

Balthazar shrugs.  “Well, I suppose a better man might not have done anything, either.  Life isn’t a romantic comedy, after all.”

“So, what now?” Dean asks after a moment of silence.  “You think I’m gonna go talk to Cas just because you came here and told me to?”

He looks resigned now, something that Dean hasn’t seen on his face before.  Not that he’s seen Balthazar’s face often.  “I obviously can’t _force_ you.  Part of me doesn’t even want you to go to him.  But you should.”

God, Dean had taken Cas’s word for it that Balthazar loved him, but now he’s seeing it for himself, and he _knows_ that whatever muddled feelings he has for Cas can’t possibly measure up to this.  Because he knows that if he were in Balthazar’s position, he wouldn’t be here, at his rival’s house, asking him to talk to Cas.  Hell, happy or not, Dean probably would’ve flown Cas out to England already so Balthazar couldn’t ever put his hands on him again.

Balthazar gets to his feet.  “I’m going to leave, now.  Cas is free tonight, so if you ever get your head out of your arse—”

“If you’re gonna go, just go,” Dean interrupts.

“Fair enough,” Balthazar says.  “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Mhmm,” Dean grunts.

Balthazar exits the room, and Dean listens to his footsteps as they fade. 

Okay, so maybe he _should_ drop by Cas’s tonight.  And this time, he’s gonna go in prepared—last thing he wants is a repeat performance of that fight they had outside Bambino’s.

* * *

Dean shifts anxiously in front of the door to Cas’s apartment.

He still has his key to the place, but he doesn’t think Cas would take it so well if he just waltzed inside right now.  So he lifts his fist, takes a deep breath, and knocks.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” he faintly hears from inside, and somehow even this, hearing Cas’s voice from the other side of a door, makes him feel better.  Fuck, he’s _gone_ , isn’t he?  “You know, I was kidding when I told you to kno—”

The door swings inward, and Cas stops himself mid-sentence.

“Dean.”

Dean’s mind instantly skips back to that morning in Cas’s kitchen, the day that he met Balthazar and everything fell apart.  His name had sounded wrong in Cas’s overly detached tone that morning, but it’s even worse now, layered with anger and sadness and disappointment.  He can _see_ the thought flash through Cas’s head, the impulse to slam the door shut.

But Cas’s hand only clenches on the door, and he doesn’t move.  “Can I help you?”

He sounds cold, removed, and Dean feels like the words slice right through him.  “Cas, I—we need to talk.”

“Do we?”

This is a side of Cas that Dean’s seen before, a Cas that’s shut down, but Dean’s never been on the receiving end before.  This is Cas _trying not to love him_ , Dean realizes with a pang.  “Yeah,” he manages.  He came here to sort this all out, damn it, and he’s gonna follow through, no matter how Cas takes it.

“All right, then.  Talk.”

“We’re doing this right here?” Dean says, looking up and down the hall.

“Yes.”

“Okay, then.”

It’s silent for a moment, and Cas just looks at Dean expectantly.  Dean looks back and forth again.  The hall’s thankfully empty of other people, but there’s no telling how long it’ll stay that way.  But Cas doesn’t look like he’s gonna budge, so this’ll have to do.

“I don’t love you.”

Cas’s mask breaks—he flinches, like the words hurt him physically, and Dean curses his mouth because it’s somehow never connected to his brain, and he’s just dug himself an even bigger hole.

“Yeah, I figured that out on my own, but thanks for taking the time to make it absolutely clear,” Cas says.

“No, I didn’t mean—just—just listen, okay?”

“I’d really rather shut the door right now, I think.”

Dean lifts a hand but doesn’t quite reach out, because Cas’s hand is still on the door, hasn’t moved to close it just yet, and Dean trusts his reflexes to be enough to stop him if he tries.  “Cas, please,” he says.

The muscle in Cas’s jaw twitches, and then he says, “I’m listening.”

“I just… okay.”  Dean sighs, releases the breath that’s felt caught in his lungs since he stopped in front of the apartment complex, and starts.  “Maybe I don’t love you like Balthazar does, but I, I want to.  I want _you_.  Cas… last time you asked me how long.  And I can’t exactly say forever, but I… fuck.”  He breaks off, shaking his head, trying for the words that won’t come—this is just as hard for him as he thought it’d be.

“Dean—”

“I’m not done yet,” Dean interrupts, and his determination must be showing in his voice or on his face, because Cas shuts up instantly.  “I just know that I need you, Cas.  You can’t—” he stops, because he’s not here to tell Cas what he can or can’t do.  So he tries again, “It’s always been just Sam and Dad, for me.  I never really had anyone else, and I never really _needed_ anyone else.  But I… god, I can hardly remember a time when you weren’t part of my life.  I can’t lose you.  Do you—do you get that?”

Cas’s brow is furrowed, but his face is impossible to read—sure, Dean normally has a hard time reading Cas, but it’s even harder right now, and fuck if it doesn’t make Dean even more anxious.

“I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me, I swear,” he hurries to add.  “I’m just… I’m trying to be honest.”

Cas huffs, something like amusement on his face, only it’s more like amusement’s dark and twisted half-brother.  “Honest,” he repeats.

“Yeah, I know, I should be suffering some sort of allergic reaction by now, yada, yada,” Dean says.  “I’m serious about this, okay?”  And he’s painfully aware of how easily Cas could take him down right now, hates feeling so open to attack.  Every instinct is telling him to clam up and get out, pretend this never happened.  But he waits, drops his gaze to the ground so that he doesn’t have to look Cas in the eye.

“Dean, you…” Cas’s voice wavers, and he pauses.  When he speaks again, his tone is infuriatingly level and neutral.  “Tell me what you want from me.”

“What I want,” Dean repeats, a little incredulous.  “I want you to stay.  I want you to stop seeing Balthazar.  I want to… to go back in time and change those fucking rules so you couldn’t have started seeing him in the first place.  I want… I want…”

_I want you to be mine_ , he can’t say.

But then he’s being jerked forward by the lapels of his jacket, and Cas’s lips press to his.  Startled, Dean goes into autopilot, wraps his arms around Cas and kisses back furiously.

And god, has it really only been two weeks?  He’d almost forgotten how perfectly they fit together—no matter what other shit’s going on, this will always be fucking amazing.

“Cas…” he breathes when they break apart for air.

Cas is shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut.  “Shut up, Dean, just—shut up,” he murmurs fervently, and then they’re kissing again, moving into the apartment.

Dean manages to kick the door shut after he’s inside, spins them around to press Cas into the door.  Goddamn, he’s missed this, the feeling of Cas up against him, the familiar smell of this apartment.  Honestly, this place smells more like home to him than that empty husk of a house he lives in.

But he doesn’t feel secure in this, not yet, because Cas hasn’t said anything, and while Dean can totally get with the program—hell, he’s harder than he’s been all week so he’s already with the program—he needs to know what’s happening here, needs to know they’re on the same page.

Cas has already coaxed Dean’s jacket off his shoulders and is digging his nails into Dean’s shoulders under his shirt by the time Dean musters the willpower to turn his head away.

“Cas, wait,” he says as Cas’s mouth slips along his mouth, down his throat, wet heat and suction forcing all the blood in Dean’s body to rush down.

Cas nips at the base of Dean’s neck, then turns his head down some more, hides his face in the junction between Dean’s neck and shoulder.  “Dean, this had better not be a joke.”

“It’s not—”

“You’d better not be joking,” Cas continues as though Dean hasn’t spoken.

He lets his hands slide down the length of Dean’s back and pulls them out from underneath Dean’s shirt, and Dean instantly misses them.  But one hand comes to rest on his left shoulder, and as Cas pulls his head back, the other hand cups Dean’s cheek, forces Dean to meet his eyes.

“I’m only gonna ask you this once,” Cas says, “so don’t answer unless you’re absolutely sure.”

Dean nods.  “Mhmm.”

Cas opens his mouth, pauses, then says, “Make sure you’re thinking with your upstairs brain, all right?”

Dean barks out a surprised laugh.  “Yeah, I got it.  Ask.”

“Did you… did you mean everything you said?”

“A hundred percent,” Dean says without hesitation.

Cas’s eyes are fixed on Dean’s face, as though he’s looking for a tell, trying to pick out a lie.  And even though Dean’s not lying, hasn’t been more honest with himself or anyone else in his life, he can’t help but worry that Cas is going to pick up on something that’s not there.

But Cas finally nods, seemingly satisfied.  “Okay, then,” he says, and breathes out shakily.  “We’re good.”

“Yeah we’re… we’re good,” Dean confirms.

Cas gives him this smile, then, Dean’s favorite smile—hell, he’s stupid as fuck, because how did he not realize he was so gone on Cas when he decided on a _favorite smile_ of his?—and he knows.  Well, of course he knows, because Cas admitted it to him already.  But this, this is different.  Dean sees that small, private smile, and he is completely certain that Cas loves him.

Cas loves him, and they’re gonna give this relationship a shot, and Dean thinks that in this moment, nothing could possibly make him happier than he already is.

Of course, just as this thought crosses his mind, Cas decides to prove him wrong by rolling his hips once, twice, three times, and Dean groans, yanking him away from the door because if they’re gonna do this now, they’re gonna do it in a bed.

It’s hard to walk when Cas is clinging to him like a limpet though, and when Cas gets his mouth on Dean’s neck, Dean can’t resist twisting and shoving him into the nearest wall, tugging on his hair to tilt his head back, make his lips accessible.  Dean kisses him hard, and Cas opens for him, easy as ever, lets Dean lick, suck, and bite at him until his lips are red, swollen and abused-looking.

Dean pushes away from Cas, breathing hard.  “Fuck—Cas, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna fuck you right up against this wall.”

And then Cas is in his arms again, pushing him into the opposite wall.  “I’ve got no objections,” he murmurs, hands slipping down to work at Dean’s belt buckle.

Dean groans.  “Lube,” he manages to get out, and Cas pushes away from him abruptly.  He’s only left disoriented for a second, though—Cas stalks toward the living room, stripping off his shirt as he goes.

“I’m getting it,” he says, and pauses at the end of the hall to look back at Dean.  “You, naked.  Now,” he adds, and skips out of sight.

Dean curses under his breath and toes his shoes off, then starts down the hall, pulling off both of his shirts at once and tossing them aside.  His jeans, socks lost in the pant legs somewhere, end up slung over the arm of Cas’s ratty couch.  When Dean reaches the bedroom, he’s naked, lazily stroking himself with one hand.

“Fuck,” he hisses as he enters the room—Cas is kneeling by the foot of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows braced on the mattress, a bottle of lube placed on the ground beside his knees.

God, the offer is tempting, but it’s not what Dean wants right now.  He takes two steps to reach Cas, pulls him to his feet, and turns him around.

“Dean, what—”

But Dean cuts him off with a kiss, steps forward and pushes Cas down so that he’s sitting on the bed.  Dean drops to his knees and spreads Cas’s legs, takes in the fucking delicious sight of his cock, thick and hard and curving up toward his belly.

Dean’s starting to lean forward when Cas’s fingers thread into his hair, holding him still.  He looks up into eyes dark with desire, blue nearly overtaken by black.

“Dean, you don’t have to—”

Dean shakes his head, reaches a hand out to give Cas a nice, firm stroke, and savors Cas’s reaction, the way those full, pink lips part on a startled moan, the way his eyelids flutter until his eyes are nearly shut.

Dean keeps stroking, using some precome to slick the way, and Cas’s hands clench and unclench in his hair.  His head drops back, exposing that perfect, pale throat, and fuck, they’ve been apart long enough that Dean’s marks have faded entirely, and Dean wants more than almost anything to lean up and fix that this instant.

But tonight isn’t about that, isn’t for that, so he restrains himself—he has something else in mind.

When he leans forward this time, Cas doesn’t stop him, and Dean glances up to see wide eyes, black rimmed with blue, staring avidly—almost _reverently_ , fuck—down at him.

Dean drops his eyes quickly, stops his strokes with his hand at the base of Cas’s dick, and presses a kiss to the head.  Cas stiffens, hands tense, and Dean opens his mouth, sinks down.  Cas groans, muscles in his thighs coiled tight, and Dean knows he’s fighting the impulse to thrust.  Dean tightens his lips around the shaft and _sucks_ , and Cas rewards him by making a sound like he’s dying.

As Dean starts bobbing his head, he reaches his free hand to his left and snatches the bottle of lube Cas had left on the ground.  He attempts valiantly to open it one-handed but finally gives in and removes his right hand from around Cas’s cock to get the bottle open.

He pulls off, and Cas lets out a disappointed whine, but he doesn’t try to pull Dean back onto his cock.

“Cas, scoot,” Dean mutters, pulling at his calves.

Cas looks down at Dean, takes note of the open bottle in his hand, and gets the picture—he lies back and shifts forward until his ass is on the edge of the bed.  Dean pours some lube over his fingers, drops the bottle, and reaches up, presses his fingers to the tight ring of muscle.

Cas hisses— _cold_ —and Dean kisses his inner thigh, murmurs an apology into the smooth, white skin.  He starts pressing inward and groans at how tight Cas’s hole is tonight, proof that he definitely wasn’t expecting this.

Dean slides his finger in all the way to the knuckle and holds it there for a moment, torturing himself by imagining how it’s gonna feel when he finally sinks in, when he’s surrounded by that glorious, tight heat.  He crooks his finger and knows he’s brushed Cas’s prostate, because his hole clenches even tighter, and his back arches beautifully.

“Cas…” Dean breathes, meaninglessly, and goes about opening Cas up nice and slow, taking his time because now he has all the time in the world, has Cas all to himself, and he’s gonna enjoy dragging this out.

“Dean,” Cas grits out as Dean presses that spot again, and okay, maybe Dean won’t be able to drag this out for too long.  “‘m not gonna break.  C’mon.”

Dean grins as he adds another finger.  “So impatient,” he chides, a mockery of what Cas has said to him on numerous occasions.

Cas opens his mouth, no doubt with some snappy retort on the edge of his tongue, but Dean shoves the tips of his fingers against that little bud, and Cas chokes back his response.  “Dean,” he groans, drawn out and pleading.

Dean’s always had trouble resisting that voice, and now is no different.  He adds a third finger and watches as Cas takes his fingers, shoves down onto them.  “Fuck, Cas…”  He gets to his feet and bends over to kiss Cas.

Cas only tries to keep up for a moment before turning his head away, shifting restlessly.  “Dean, inside.  Now,” he demands, and yeah, that sounds like a great idea, the best idea.

Dean pulls his fingers out, snatches the bottle of lube and slicks himself up hastily—Cas’s legs are wrapping around his hips to pull him in, and it’s really goddamn distracting.  And then Dean’s there, pressed up against that tight pucker, and he hesitates a moment before slowly pushing in.

Cas tries to push back, to force Dean to move faster, and whines in protest when Dean holds him still with firm hands on his hips.  Hell, Dean _would_ go faster, but this slow drag, this intimate slide in, is so perfect, so maddening, that he can’t give it up.  He groans when he bottoms out, Cas’s channel so snug around him that it feels like he won’t be able to pull back out.

“ _Move_ Dean.  C’mon,” Cas growls, voice hoarse.

But Dean just leans forward to kiss him again, even though being bent over makes it difficult to thrust.  He finally starts grinding forward, swallows Cas’s little gasps as Dean fucks him with short, sweet rolls of his hips.

But eventually it isn’t enough, and Dean’s hips start moving a little faster, strokes lengthening despite his intention to keep this going as long as possible.  Their kiss breaks, and Dean leans his forehead on Cas’s, their mouths only centimeters apart, sharing breath.

“Dean…” Cas urges, barely louder than a whisper.  “Dean, please—”

“Yeah,” Dean manages.  “Yeah, okay.”

He straightens, lifts Cas’s legs so that his ankles rest on Dean’s shoulders, and starts really going for it.  Cas grunts with each thrust, head thrown back and hands fisted in the sheets, and Dean can feel that he wants to thrust back but has no leverage in this position.  Dean makes up for it by snapping his hips forward harder, faster, and when Dean finds the right angle, Cas cries out with every stroke.

“Oh, fuck—Dean—right there— _right_ there—”

Cas’s voice cracks, and Dean loses himself in the rhythmic slaps of skin on skin, the perfect, unbelievably tight grip of Cas’s hole around him.  He’s so lost in this, this overwhelmingly pleasurable haze, that he doesn’t even notice how close Cas is until he’s seizing, clamping impossibly tighter around Dean, mouth falling open on a soundless cry as he spills.

“Holy fucking— _Cas_ —” Dean chokes out, and then he’s coming, mind-blowing and earth-shattering, lifting Cas back onto his cock as he fucks through his orgasm.

His legs give out, and his entire body feels like it’s filled with lead.  He staggers back, pulling out of Cas as he does so, and shifts one step to the left so that he won’t collapse completely on top of Cas.  As it is, he lands half on top of him anyway, and Cas grunts upon impact but doesn’t move a muscle.

Dean doesn’t know how long he stays there, lying on his stomach with his legs partially hanging off the bed, but by the time he’s feeling ready to think about moving, he’s caught his breath again, and unfortunately his thoughts have caught up to him, too.

Is this for real?  They hadn’t _really_ talked it through or anything, just jumped straight into sex, and while that was great—fuck _yeah_ , that was great—Dean feels like he’s floundering now.

Where do they go from here?

Then Cas is shifting, slipping out from under him, sliding up the bed, and turning onto his side.  Dean groans, forces his heavy limbs to work until he’s lying across from Cas, facing him.  He’d say something, but his mind is blank—he’s just been fucked stupid, and the last thing he wants to do is _think_ , damn it.

Naturally, Cas is the one to break the silence.  “What made you change your mind?”

Dean blinks.  “What?”

“About this—us.  What made you think that we should—that we could—”

“Wow, Cas.  I never thought I’d see _you_ struggling with words.”

Cas gives him a pissy look, and Dean’s chest feels ridiculously warm.  “Dean, answer my question.”

This sobers him up quickly, and he closes his eyes.  “I couldn’t… god, Cas.  I, uh…” he shakes his head.  “I already told you that I need you.  What else… what else do you want me to say?”

“Dean, I’m not intentionally giving you a hard time.  I’m just trying to understand,” Cas says, and his hand comes up, rests on Dean’s cheek.

His thumb brushes along Dean’s cheekbone, and his eyes radiate so much fondness that Dean starts to feel uncomfortable.  He shifts his gaze away from Cas, and Cas’s hand starts to lift away from his cheek.  Dean’s eyes flick back to Cas’s just in time to catch a flicker of disappointment, and he grasps Cas’s hand before it gets too far away, presses it back against his face again.

“Hey, no.  Cas, I didn’t—I’m only just starting.  Give me some time to get used to this,” he says, trying to catch Cas’s eye.  But when he does, Cas looks guarded, and Dean huffs a sigh.  “Come on, Cas.  I can’t have fucked this all up already.”

Cas closes his eyes.  “You haven’t messed anything up.  It’s fine.”  He pulls his hand away slowly, places it palm-down on the bed, between their faces.

Dean hesitates for a moment before shifting to sandwich Cas’s hand between both of his, pulling it closer to press a kiss to it.  “I’ll try, Cas.  I promise.”

Those blue, blue eyes flick open, and Cas fixes him with a level stare.  The emotion in his gaze has been toned down a lot, and Dean wonders how Cas does it, and it hits him again that _god_ , Cas had a crush on him for _years_.  How could he stand it?

“We should get cleaned up,” Cas says.

Dean’s surprised by the sting of disappointment that Cas didn’t acknowledge his words.  “Tired,” is all he says, and Cas frowns but doesn’t move to pull away.  “We can shower in the morning,” Dean adds.  Just as he finishes speaking, he yawns, and that’s just perfect timing, really.

“Morning,” Cas repeats, and Dean remembers those stupid rules they had before, the ones that hopefully aren’t in place anymore, now that they’re… doing something new.  He’s about to speak when Cas adds, with a small smile, “I’d like that.”

Dean breaks into a grin and gets up to slide under the covers, prods at Cas until he does the same.  As soon as Cas is tucked in beside him, Dean gathers him close, and they fit together as they always did, like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.  He lets out a contented sigh, because this, this was what he’d wanted almost every night they were together—to hold Cas ‘til morning.  And really, how could he have thought that that was just cuddling for the sake of cuddling?

Sometime later, when Dean’s drifting off, he hears Cas’s voice—“Dean?”

“Hmm,” Dean grunts, shifting to tug Cas closer to him—his arms had loosened as he neared sleep, and now that he’s more aware, Dean doesn’t like the space between them.

“I’ll wait,” Cas says softly.  “I can wait until you’re ready.  However long it takes—as long as we get there, I’ll wait for you.”

“Yeah, we’ll get there,” Dean says, and it’s not just to reassure Cas—that warm feeling erupts again in his chest at Cas’s words, and while he doesn’t know whether or not that’s love, he sure as hell knows that it could be.  It _will_ be.  “Just, promise me one thing in return, okay?”

“I’m already going to wait for you.  What else do you want?” Cas asks, but there’s a playful tone to his voice now, so Dean smiles.

“No rules this time,” he says.

Cas huffs a short laugh.  “Perhaps just one—we have to be exclusive.”

“Yes, that one’s fine,” Dean concedes, still smiling.

“Very well, I promise.”  After a pause, Cas says, “Good night, Dean.”

And it’s so achingly familiar, reminds him of all those nights spent in their dorm room, in that small, crappy, student apartment of theirs, and they’ve really come so far since then.

“‘Night, Cas,” Dean says, closing his eyes.

Dean noses at the nape of Cas’s neck, tangles their legs together, and just breathes, and he knows it’s gonna be all right.


End file.
